


Rise

by ylrissa



Series: The Fate Trilogy [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylrissa/pseuds/ylrissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The supposed abduction of a blood elven noblewoman by Hellscream is the last trigger for Lor'themar, who comes together with the elf's sister and even the king of Stormwind in a twisted race to dethrone the tyrant orc. But, is she even alive? Part 1 of a planned trilogy. Chapter 8/8. First chapters revised with a small change in plot. Rated T for language. Set during MoP.</p><p>Rewrite of a rewrite of a rewrite of a rewrite, posted on FF.net.</p><p>Rated T for language.</p><p>Eventual OC/Varian Wrynn, and a suggested OC/Lor'themar relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Holy shit, I've finally gotten around to editing the first few chapters of this story. I originally wrote it with no real plot planned, as per usual, but I've finally gotten my shit together to fix this so I can move onto part 2 and 3. Fair warning, this part is going to be super short compared to the next two installments. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Farstriders' Square was alive with citizens. Several were jarring together, practicing their training with wooden swords. A pair of Blood Knight adepts squared off near the gritted steps, each holding duplicate ranseurs that flashed in the daylight, cerise and crimson leaves crunching under their feet. In a remote corner, a gathering of rangers and hunters witnessed and cackled as a fledgling hunter struggled to control his infuriated lynx. An adjacent merchant's stall sold fresh, exotic fruits, the rows of colourful produce catching to the eye.

The soft air was shattered with the snap of an arrow and a brash groan.

"Again!"

A small, freckled elven woman flung the ruined shaft to the cobblestone floor and her longbow trailed soon after, disturbing a heap of crisp, red leaves.

"Shut it, Halduron, or my next arrow is going right between those pretty little eyebrows." She wilted to the ground, and the laugh she received was vigorous.

"You can try, but by the way this training is going, it will soar well past my head and kill a civilian." The blonde haired woman let out a snarl as she laid back on the floor, causing the Ranger-General to call her a 'spitting kitten.'

She was caught mid-pounce and mid-yell, inches from Halduron.

"Now, there is no need to exasperate her to the point where she would contemplate slaughtering the Ranger-General of Silvermoon," the voice of the hands around her waist said to the man in question. The woman stuck her tongue out at the blonde man before the voice turned on her. "And there is similarly no need for you to allow him to exasperate you to the point you would contemplate slaughtering-"

She smacked his hands away until he let her go. "Shut it, Theron," she bit out in a parallel manner to her previous words.

She turned to him and he was feigning a wounded expression, a hand on his heart. "Your words, they claw into my chest and rip my heart to shreds." The novice huntress' face knotted as she strained to supress her mirth. The duo were soon shrouded in a fit, Halduron lastly joining in amidst the gracelessness. Lor'themar drew the woman into a quick hug before freeing her.

She watched as the two men shared a similar embrace before the Ranger-General clapped his best friend's shoulder.

"Welcome back, brother. How was Pandaria?" She deliberated leaving them alone, but amid her inquisitiveness and ogling at the man's exposed arms, she decided to stay. She observed the two as if they were pieces of art in a gallery, noting how the vivacious reds of the city behind Lor'themar's snowy crown made his uninjured emerald eye brighter.

"Besides a slight falling out with the Warchief, it was swell. I have plans to instantaneously excavate areas with the Requilary once we capture the Isle of Thunder."

"Sounds risky," The huntress murmured, causing both men to face her. "I mean, the Isle. Yeah. Isle of Thunder? Spooky." When she comprehended they were giving her disapproving gazes, she reddened.

"Yes, well," Lor'themar started, "I had to return to help Rommath with something calamitous, and I must be getting to that now. Corri, Halduron." He left her standing with his Ranger-General, who shrugged at her injured appearance.

She spoke first. "If you think I'm going to continue training after what you said to me, you need to re-evaluate your life."

The man exhaled, shaking his head nonchalantly. "Any true ranger would use criticism to help improve themselves."

"I'm training to be a huntress, not a ranger," Corriana bit back, already irritated at how he blew her words off so fluently, but the look Halduron gave her silenced her promptly.

"The archery is the same. I am willing to help you train for the time being." Though she truthfully desired to decline, she was conscious that a man like him would not habitually be so ready to give one-on-one training to anyone.

"You want to take me on as an apprentice?"

The older man shrugged. "I would not put it that theoretically, but yes, I suppose so."

He took the longbow from her and began walking towards a flight of fragmented stone steps, gesturing for her to shadow him. "You seem like you could use a break."

She was immediately mindful of his words and his manner. "What do you want to know?"

She eyed him diagonally as they strolled, side by side. He seemed to be taking a lengthy amount of time to discover his words, and it began to concern her. "Not many would have the impertinence to communicate with Lor'themar that way," he finally thought.

The huntress knew precisely what he was trying to say. "I've been penning him for years, if that's what you mean. We met, a long time ago, once. The day I left home to move to Orgrimmar."

She did not want to look at him then. She chose to glue her eyes to the decrepit floor underneath her feet, or the spiralling leaves that pirouetted in the air, to the sun-bleached walls, or everything else that permitted her to keep her eyes from his.

The pair were hushed for a few minutes, only exchanging alternative breaths. "Is your connection greater than just ink?"

She knew it was coming. She had felt it in her bones, the shuddering ache of expectation that came before an inquiry she did not want to have to answer. Her mouth felt parched. Her tongue chanced her lips, and she coughed carefully.

"I'm far too young for him, and he's far too old for me," the elf gave him a smile, one with the pale trace of hurt and sorrow. The words sounded like a quotation, even to her, as if they were articulated in the same way, once before.

The man disregarded the words, disregarded the melancholy that hid behind her teeth. "He is very protective of you, Lor'themar that is. It is rather peculiar."

She once again knew what he was trying to tell her without having to really say it. She knew he was interested as to why her sister was sent back to Orgrimmar while she was kept in the security of Silvemoon, where Theron or his eyes could watch over her at all times.

"Lor is a concerned friend, looking out for a powerless trainee. That's all." He did not believe her, and she couldn't blame him; she wouldn't have believed herself.

They stopped at the fountain, near the head where a golden woman raised proudly with water cascading around her figure. It was customary for them, when they had these walks. This was where they would part. She would watch him from the water as he ascended the infinite steps up to the Spire. Sometimes he would watch her cautiously tread along the rim of the fountain, each time nearly slipping where the wet stone slanted downwards with the grey steps.

Today, she would leave first. The huntress felt his eyes on her back as she stepped up onto the porous stone trim. One leather-clad foot in front of the other, she took her time circling around with the lapping water. A pair of children splashed each other further inside the fountain, a few rogue droplets managing to find their way to her pleated hair. As she came to the slope, she broke her tradition by hopping back down to the ground, picking up her stride as she jogged down the moist steps.

Her mother was waiting on the steps when she arrived home, an envelope sandwiched between her fingers. The two women noiselessly exchanged words with a glance, the quilted paper switching from one small hand to the other as Corriana passed by.

"Dinner is waiting for you," Ardis called, but her words fell on deaf ears.

The parcel in her hand seemed as if a ball and chain were tied to her wrist. The white paper of the envelope was stained with red, the curves of the ink spelling out her name in Orcish. The Horde's insignia was embossed into the same shade of red of the wax on the reverse side.

The huntress' breath was shallow and strenuous as she clambered up the twisting steps to the second floor. She almost stumbled over her own feet and a sheepskin runner before she sightlessly made it into her room. She closed and sealed the door, flinging the letter onto her round bed. Corriana stood in a corner, holding herself, eyes wide and locked onto the rectangle of bound paper in front of her.

Her mind had shut down; null and void. As soon as she was unaccompanied, the distressing scenarios that played through her head as she mounted those steps were gone. It was just her and the letter. Just her vacant mind, garish breaths, and arched red lines. The rubicund drapery that clung from her ceiling wavered, just as she did, in the air. The tree outside her open window, full of leaves, rattled, just as she did.

After one last inhalation of air to gather herself, she stepped forward and picked up the envelope. She turned it over in her hands, eyeing the daub of beeswax that divided her from her blending apprehension. With one painted fingernail, she shredded it open, ripping the letter out with diminutive tolerance.

She read. There was an instant where her heart stopped beating, before her pulse skyrocketed and she let out a dismayed wheeze. She felt the complex muscle in her chest palpitate as the hairs on her skin raised and her eyes dilated. In spite of the crackling fire to her right, she felt chilled, chilled to the bone.

When she was done, she threw the paper into the fire, fell to her knees, and watched it burn, along with her entire world.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in her birthplace, Faine and her family struggle to find clues to the youngest Sunfeather's disappearance.

"Any news?"

The owner of the exerted voice was drenched in sweat and coloured a peculiar shade of red due to an unanticipated dust storm she had encountered a few weeks prior. Her blonde hair, slipped behind long ears, was an oily and snarled mess, packed with lifeless leaves and supplementary debris. A battle-marred face was distended with labour, pierced nostrils flaring after a virtually everlasting expedition to her present position. Overall, the veteran warrior felt like hell itself.

Collapsed down in her mother's immaculate chair halfway across the world from her own recent home, Fainestra Sunfeather was the embodiment of a drained adventurer. Her elven ears were wilted and her green eyes darkened, clear signs of a very worn-out blood elf. A diminutive lament broadcasted from somewhere further inside the expansive house, coupling effortlessly with her existing foul state.

"Faine," a wiry, sickly elf called on her way into the living quarters, a servant carrying a tray of food trailing her, "How was your voyage?" Her tone was laced with equal parts melancholy and apprehension, for both of her daughters. She sat in the chair neighbouring the present daughter, the devoted servant placing the tray down on the low table before departing.

"Corriana," Faine simply said, unconcerned in discussing her travels at the current time. Although the aroma of food prompted a grumble from her intestines and a shrill twinge from her belly, she did not extend a hand to the platter. "What news of her?"

The older elf exhaled once more, blinking up to the draperies that traversed the ceiling.

"Nothing. It has been over a month and still naught. No letters, no suggestion to her whereabouts. No sign of the letter that came for her the evening of her disappearance."

Her daughter pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperatedly. "Could it have been Hellscream?" The mother shrugged haphazardly.

"What motivations would he have to take her? We have been hushed for years, no one has done anything that would have enraged him."

Faine distinguished the enquiry in her mother's words. It was correct, their entire family had been sitting soundlessly in Silvermoon for centuries. All but her, the lone Sunfeather to venture into Orgrimmar.

"Ardis, you know me well enough that I would not start complications where I am not concerned. I can guarantee I have done nothing to neither single myself out from the others, nor to upset the orc."

The elven matriarch whimpered. "Oh, Faine, I am not accusing you for this. We just need to know every single detail if we wish to advance this investigation."

The warrior shut her eyes and let her head fall back to hit the cushioned back of the chair. "What proof do they have presently? Any prints, dust, even a single hair perhaps?"

She felt Ardis place her skeletal hand onto her knee, as if to try to soothe her. She opened her eyes to receive the shattered look of an inconsolable mother. "Lor has brought in his finest people. There is little that they have found. They are still upstairs, if you wish to see."

The elf left her mother in the unblemished room, alone with the cooling tea and crumbling cakes on golden serviettes. She shadowed the spiralling steps up to the uppermost floor, to the indistinct murmurs and the resonances of ink on parchment. There was a charmed barrier up, but it was lifted temporarily after a quick inquiry. She entered the room with a keen eye, instantaneously scrutinising anything that could jump out at her as being wrong.

"What is that I sense?" She asked straightaway, an accustomed sensation wrapping around her like thin fingers around her neck. The hairs on her body stood up on end, gooseflesh taking over her bare arms. "Is that fel energy?"

One of the investigators nodded, his spiked hair remaining in place in spite of the movement. "We've found hints of it on her sheets. Not a lot, but it's unquestionably there."

This did not make sense to her. Her sister never used. "Corriana never came into contact with fel. She was too young, and even if she found it elsewhere, she was not thoughtless enough to go near it."

The detectives did not seem as persuaded. "It's not hard to obtain," another added in, seemingly more dubious about it than the sister. "You can find it down the street from here."

Faine frowned, still not buying any of it. "Do you have a sample? Let me feel it."

They offered her a small baggy, seemingly void, but after a second of concentrating her mind to it, a small emerald swirl of energy syphoned into the palm of her free hand. She let it sink into her body, the acquainted rush accompanying it as it raced through her veins and into her heart. Her nostrils splayed somewhat as her blood absorbed the slight amount of fel, which was still enough to give her a response.

"You inept fools," she snarled, hurling the bag to the ground. "This is orcish fel! Can you not feel the difference?"

The men and women in the room looked around to each other, as if to look for the one who would speak up.

The first man did so, standing after salvaging the imbued bag. "I apologize for distrusting your word, and I must thank you for making this finding. We truthfully not once assumed to check the fel ourselves as we presumed it was acquired from inside the city."

The warrior merely thinned her lips. "I will take word of this to Lor'themar myself. Continue finding what evidence you can." She twisted and left the room, the barricade already having been lifted for her in advance.

Washed and garbed, Faine was rapidly accompanied through the Spire by one of Lor'themar's men. She caught him alone, his attention instantaneously snapping to her as she arrived, her face reddened. He made to stand up to greet her but she put a hand out to stop him.

"The fel- it is not elven," she gasped as soon as her chaperon had left. "It is an orcish strain. It must have come from the envelope, my mother could not recollect what was transcribed on it but it had to have been orcish."

The Regent Lord remained where he was, unmoving on a luxurious chair with a scroll in hand. His brow creased and he seemed lost in thought. "But why?" He finally asked, his eye meeting hers.

She shrugged, sinking to the identical chair across the disorderly table from him. "I cannot bring myself to a motive. It seems so unsystematic in my eyes… Hellscream could not possibly gain anything from taking a blood elven noble from her quarters."

The words caused the ranger to grow pale.

"Faine, I may know what this is about." She looked back up at him with her head tilted at an angle, mouth separated in question. "I have been… negotiating, with the king of Stormwind. To perchance see to a reciprocated agreement in which the sin'dorei join the Alliance, as my affiliation with the orc has been strained… I dread this may have all been my culpability."

The warrior was speechless, struggling to wrap her head around what she had just heard.

"Why Corri? What are you not telling me, Lor'themar?"

He offered her no words but the look on his face whispered a story. He would not need to describe himself, she understood well enough.

"Lor…"


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faine discusses plans back in Orgrimmar with a troll, who brings up good points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm going to be quite obvious and say I don't own WoW. I also don't own many of the characters that will be written into this story. I think it's pretty obvious who I've created and who I haven't, but whatever I guess.

Garrosh Hellscream was an artist when it came to influence.

He could voluntarily paint a picture for whoever listened, whether it was of realism or surrealism. His canvas of choice was cadavers and his medium was warm, sticky blood; no matter if it came from a child, civilian, or a soldier. The orc was gradually descending into insanity, and Faine had not been the first to notice.

Living quite accurately between the trollish and tauren tribes of Orgrimmar left the warrior with a widespread assortment of voices and sentiments. Neither race were silent about their views, but were cautious of who they spoke to concerning their assessments on the Warchief. A decree for treason hung above every citizen of the city, and not everyone was prepared to risk their lives to be defiant.

The middle-aged blood elf resided nearby both a troll and a tauren, both instructors to novice hunters. Those favouring the tender naturalistic methodology to being a hunter would seek out Nohi Plainswalker, the companionless tauren in the Valley of Wisdom. Those that could not refute learning survival techniques would go to Huntress Kuzari, a redheaded troll with a tongue sharper than her spear.

Although both trainers educated differently, they both agreed on one thing: Hellscream. Both enthusiastically agreed that Hellscream's reign was hurting both the universal establishment of the Horde, and the civilians in it.

"Why Thrall didn't appoint Vol'jin as da new Warchief, I will neva know," Kuzari spat one day as she aided a younger troll's arm into the appropriate position, parallel to the stuffed target. "Hellscream's got a leetle head but he ain't got no leetle arrogance."

The red sand below their feet appeared to move as a single being as the winds lapped their faces and encouraged coloured dust into the air.

"I assume you are not a big fan?" The elf muttered, observing the troll release the string from between his fingers as the arrow hit the outer ring of the target with a sufficient  _thump_.

"Aye, ain't got me a single grain o' respect fo' dat man baby an' his doin's," the trollish huntress said with a nod.

Nohi, less spoken about his sentiment, gave a similar nod as he tried wiping sand out of his eye with a furred hand. "Be careful of what you say and who you say it to, Kuzari. Not everyone in this city is on the same page as us."

The blood elf, only just returned back to Durotar from her birthplace, had made it part of her everyday routine to shadow her neighbours down to the river to discuss seemingly meaningless subjects while they trained their apprentices. Today was the first day any of the three had said anything about the state of the Horde's government.

She had spent such a great percentage of her unused time on the boat home formulating the idea to get her sister back. The youngest Sunfeather sibling appeared fragile and easy to walk over, but Faine had confidence that her sister could endure under Hellscream's cruel wrath. But for how long?

Though they had no tangible proof that it was the orc that was the cause of the elf's disappearance, the proceedings leading up to that momentous night had been enough to spur them into action. Lor'themar's inaudibility did not leave Faine as she straightaway took the same boat straight back to Durotar. Her mother protested it, both due to lonesomeness and anxiety that she would lose her other daughter as well.

Faine had thought of copious amounts of ways to get to Hellscream from the inside. The one she did not sway from for a great period of time was the idea of getting into the orc's court as an ambassador or a blood elven counsellor. It was the instant she hit the rubicund, sandy shores of Durotar that she comprehended that would all be pointless. It was very sporadic for Garrosh to take in foreigners so near to him, specifically considering he already had a hand-picked few in the Hold. She would have to get more imaginative.

The blood elf tormented her mind for names and faces, hurriedly determining who would be the best selections for getting what she wanted. She knew all types of people from each corner of Azeroth, all with their own plans and thoughts, but she was sure she could bribe most of them into assisting her. None of them she could trust, but she would have to have a little conviction if she wanted to see her sister alive. She found, before she wandered off to sleep that night, that the only name she could not put a face to that continuously creeped into her consciousness was that of the Alliance's king.

* * *

"Da king o' Stormwind has da same plans ya do. Der's no need for ya to risk ya life."

Faine chortled, the sound dim and low, although she had perked her brow in interest. "And I am supposed to let him live with the honour of slaughtering the orc? He is going to have to beat me to him, since this is officially a race."

The elf had been sitting with Kuzari a few months later, on a precipice overseeing the Valley of Honour, the sound of rushing water drowning out their expressions to unwelcome eavesdroppers. She had told the troll about her sister and how all fingers pointed back to Garrosh, and how the only way she could ever get Corri back was to slay the orc herself. The huntress appeared to take her wishes accurately.

There was no stopping her now. There was by now a small revolt happening in Orgrimmar, primarily made up with trolls unhappy with the orc's management. Kuzari was a part of it in a sense, wordlessly standing on the outside while others got slaughtered for speaking out during uprisings. The elf could not blame the troll for being cautious and remaining discreet. Her cooperation alone was enough to make her content.

"Der was anotha riot last night… de killed almost everyone in da crowd. De be doin' it now t' make an example outta us, but we don't listen. Word is startin' to spread now, o' Hellscream's ways. I heard de Alliance already know an' are plannin' ta come ova here and stop him themselves."

Whatever uncertainties she had were gone as she strategized ways to get Hellscream herself before the wolf of Stormwind could land his ships on Durotar's shores. She knew it was futile and improbable, but she wanted the gratification of killing him herself.

She sighed worryingly.

"What is he planning, anyways? You seem like you know what his plan of attack is," the warrior mumbled.

Kuzari closed her eyes as she hummed in agreement. "I don't, but it seems pretty obvious ta me. He's gonna come ova here, with his millions o' people an' take da city for himself," she said, almost certain that was what would happen.

Faine stood up abruptly, stretching her numb legs.

"What are ya plannin'?" The troll asked jadedly. She knew a look of determination when she saw one.

"Can I trust you, wholeheartedly? I will not jeopardize your safety if you wish to remain guiltless, but I cannot continue communications with you about this if you are not trustworthy." The huntress nodded, a small look of pain crossing her face with the thought that her friend did not trust her after all this time.

"He be killin' ma brothas and sistas, Faine. Ya have ya reasons fo' wantin' him gone, I got mine. It's all about blood when ya look at it. His blood for ours, the ones we lost."

The warrior bobbed, sitting back down. "All I know is that whatever the wolf is scheduling, needs to be surpassed. He is not as understated as we are about his preparations, which gives us the benefit. Besides, we have the largest advantage, of being in this city." She draped her arms around her knees and rested her chin down on the tops of her hands.

"Whateva da king has in store for Garrosh, might benefit us, ya know. We could come togetha as one, beat him as one. Our chances would skyrocket if we work as one force."

Faine shook her head, exhaling. "That will never occur. Particularly now, since all communications amid Lor'themar and the king have been cut. They were so close to reaching an agreement, and now it has all went to hell over this damned orc. We need to think higher, and closer to home."

"Da only thing I can think of is Vol'jin," Kuzari spoke, as if it came out while she was thinking about it. "He has some impact, not a lot but he can inspire des trolls. I think he already has been… eitha way, he needs ta become da head of dis revolution. We need a face, an' a name ta stand behind."

The warrior murmured to herself, the mechanisms in her brain fluctuating and grinding.

"Are you close to him, or do you know anyone who is? This needs to transpire. We need to get him on board, even if it is by making him think  _he_ thought of the idea himself. You need to get someone down to that island and speak to him, as soon as possible."

Kuzari nodded, her curly red hair lively. "Okey. Wouldn't be dat hard, I don't think. Ya need ta get in touch wit ya elfie king too, ya know. Get some ideas flowin' through dat pretty skull o' his. An' if he's as close ta da human king as ya said, it wouldn't hurt ta get him on board too."

"No," Faine bit, her eyes tightening. "The Alliance must remain behind us. This is our glory, not theirs." She felt a thick hand on her shoulder, gripping it encouragingly.

"Faine, dis not a race. Dis is about ya sista and my sistas, the ones who are dyin' every day from speakin' out. Garrosh crossed a line when he took ya sista, and keeps crossin' more by killin' my people for not wantin' ta be a part o' his evil."

The elf sighed, lifting her head and clutching a hand on top of the troll's.

"You are right. My mind has been darkened with thoughts of taking down the troll with my own blade, but I am not being realistic. If this is to work, we necessitate as much assistance as we can get, even if that means recruiting the help of the Alliance. I have a feeling Hellscream will not end at slaying elves and trolls… he will soon let his pride take him over and he will be reaching out all over the world for more control."

Kuzari nodded, taking the elf's hand and massaging it between her own.

"Pandaria's next, I'm afraid," the troll muttered, gazing down at the cascading water that pooled into a small pond fifty feet below them, the water pure and flawless. "I wonda what he'll do t' dat poor place… da pandarens won't even see him comin'."


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and back to Silvermoon...

The dying sun shone dazzlingly overhead while boundless waves lapped every so affectionately against the blanched wood of the vessel. The abrupt and harsh scent of salt was a slight indicator of the splosh of water that would soon follow.

Deckhands milled around, most sun-kissed and shirtless, their brawny forms hauling precious cargo out of the range of the frothy seawater. Their figures seemed nearly floodlit against the last glimmers of the fading sun.

The female captain rang out commands in her jarring voice, her short hair cut in an asymmetrical fashion that left each strand pointing in a diverse assortment of directions. The abraded floorboards complained with even insignificant weight, forewarning perceptive ears of arriving company. All in all, the scene was picturesque.

"Is it just as you remembered it?" A voice asked then, the owner wiping her clammy brow with the back of her hand.

Faine was required to turn her exhausted eyes away from their aforementioned scrutiny across the limited background to look at the other elf. "There is not much to reminisce about. Infinite sea, boundless sky, endless boredom. The expedition is rapidly becoming appalling."

At some point, Lor'themar had sent a priestess over from Silvermoon to shadow her every move. Her name was Alastrine Morningfall, a non-descript blood elf with silvery hair that sat over her shoulder in a long interweave of strands. She was dressed in red, gold, and green robes, the rest of her armour corresponding, including the very blood elven staff on her back. To top everything off, she even had an emerald eyeglass over her right eye.

Candidly, neither of them had any yearning to make the extensive journey back to Eversong Woods, predominantly the priestess, as she had only been in Orgrimmar for a few months before their unanticipated beckoning.

The newcomer had been completely brought up on the mystery of Corriana's vanishing, and was one of the many elves currently set out to find her. It went without saying that the person behind their escapade to Silvermoon was Lor'themar.

The warrior was beyond dismayed that it had been almost a year with no word from or sign of her sister. Search efforts had begun to seize, as many gave up and decided the huntress was either long gone or never coming home. Only a select few still had optimism, but even those were beginning to lose it over time.

Faine watched the priestess' disheveled hair flutter rather lifelessly through the air as she curved around to support herself on the ship's railing. They did not know much about each other, but they were on moderately respectable relations since their awkward meeting. Lor'themar had not told her he would be sending people to her home in Orgrimmar, so when the spick-and-span priestess had turned up one sunrise, looking slightly exasperated, she had no choice but to welcome her into her confined, sandy home.

The most imperative pawns in her game of royal chess would be assimilated, trustworthy fences. There needed to be someone between them and Hellscream, someone who could throw off their trace, even just long enough for them to get out alive if anything were to go wrong. The warrior had already amassed a mental list of contenders, her top choice being Kuzari. Other names on the list were people such as Vol'jin, Gamon, and then other smaller figures in Orgrimmar.

Every name on her list were people she truthfully assumed to be unhappy with the warchief, hopeless enough to side with the elven nobles when the time came to act. They, like her, had a purpose, a drive, to bring Hellscream down. Whether that initiative was retribution or unadorned exasperation, they all had reasons.

Her mind then went to the person they were crossing a sea to speak to. Lor'themar still had that drive, which had honestly surprised Faine. She had no idea her sister meant  _that_ much to him.

She recognised she would also have to face her mother for the first time in months, and more likely than not, her older brother, Pengion.

* * *

After what seemed like a millennium, the vessel was docked just off the western coast of the island, in the Sunsail Anchorage. Silvermoon City was quite a distance away from their present whereabouts at the port, but Faine prospered in pulling a few threads and requested to have a dragonhawk at the port before twilight, which would have them just outside of the city by dawn.

Sitting down on a crate, the freckled elf had to combat sleep away by blinking desperately. Her actions seemed to distress her acquaintance, who was still a little plastered from the binge she had on the expedition over. "Are you crying?" Alastrine had asked, her voice fluctuating in the way it did every time she had a few more to drink than she should have, which was one of the priestess' seeming flaws.

"No, I am trying not to fall asleep."

The other elf laughed then, apparently finding that declaration wholly side-splitting. Rolling her eyes, Faine realized she was going to have to play the mature card for a while, to which she groaned internally.

"You need to sober up, immediately. In a few hours we need to be sitting on a dragonhawk, and there is no way I am flying for seven hours with you if you are drunk. Not to mention the second we get to Silvermoon, we are going to be escorted straight to Lor'themar." At the sound of his name, Alastrine sat up straight.

"You are undeniably correct." The transformation was instantaneous and somewhat aweing, until the elf broke out in drunken chimes of laughter again. "He is going to be  _so_  mad again."

The warrior rolled her eyes at the disclosure that this would not be the first time the Regent Lord had seen her drunk off her ass. Having nothing better to do, she relaxed back and closed her eyes, eager to catch a few blinks of sleep. Using the splintered crate as a mattress and Faine's lap as a pillow, Alastrine followed suit.

Roused by the noises of flapping wings and piercing squawks, the drunk elf whined as her impromptu pillow was torn away as Faine stood up. The warrior's neck ached, and her back felt just as bad from not being able to move in fear of stirring an intoxicated, sleeping elf. She watched Alastrine crack an eye open to observe the disorder. It looked as if to be late into the night, from what she could tell. When the priestess was up, she moved to speak with the dragonhawk handler.

The man was trying in vain to hold the great, winged creature down to the floor as she struggled to speak to him. Not two words later did they both turn hurriedly when they heard a loud clatter followed by a groan. The priestess, staff in hand, was peering over the crate she hid behind while staring down at a Wretched, a type of blood elf who had taken their fel dependence too far and had mutated into a horrid individual.

Grabbing her sword, Faine left the muddled dragonhawk handler as she rapidly ran back towards her companion, who had sat back down, rather dumbfounded. The warrior did not wait as she quickly sunk her blade through the creature's neck.

"Thanks," was all Alastrine said, standing up to fix her robes, following the warrior back towards the dragonhawk.

* * *

The second their feet impressed solid ground, both women were on their hands and knees, vomiting into the long grass. Dragonhawks flew in arcs, making any ride insufferable. A seven hour trip with zero stops was possibly worse than torture, particularly when one of the riders was still very drunk.

"Oh my gods," Faine choked before another bout of bile made its way out of her, "I thought I was going to die." Alastrine nodded frailly, looking as if she was about to faint.

The elves had just a few minutes to collect themselves before they would be sent to Lor'themar. The walk to the city's front gates was all the time they had left. "Good," Faine said after giving the other woman a once-over, "You look sober."

Bracing themselves one last time, they walked the few steps up to the colossal gates.

They were let in with relative ease, and before long they were essentially dragged towards the Spire by some of the Regent Lord's men.

After a speechless twenty-odd minute walk, the fivesome had arrived at the building that had not appeared to change much since Faine's last visit; a detour from the Spire. The looming structure, ornamented in her House's colours of crimson, gold, and black, did not feel warm.

Their timing was immaculate; her brother's figure had just begun descending the stairs. Straightaway, the warrior's blood drained and every strand of her being told her to run as the plated feet led up to legs, then a gigantic torso, then finally, a face she hadn't seen in years.

Immense for a blood elf, Pengion the Bloodied stood six feet and five inches tall, and had to weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds, even without his armour. The elf was massive, and tremendously threatening. His dirty blond hair was combed into a sophisticated ponytail, a few strands escaping their bonds to lay across his tanned and mangled face.

Not many could justly say he was still good-looking, even with his faint Sunfeather freckles and silken hair. Not even his invaluable obsidian armour could make him look any more frightening than his face already did. He wasn't even near them, but yet Faine could hear the growl in his throat.

"Fainestra. What a pleasure to see my ever-lovely sister." The only thing the warrior could ponder was how his voice could cut diamond. "Mother has been expecting you for hours. It is quite a shame you're late."

He was finally there, right in front of her. The middle Sunfeather child had to crane her neck up just to look at him. She felt so out of place and even more insufficient whenever she was near him. Beside her, Alastrine shifted nervously, and it was then she realized Lor's men had left.

"That  _is_  a shame. More so a shame is that this is the welcome that I-" the warrior had stopped when the frantic footsteps of their mother resonated down the marble hallway.

"My beautiful dove!" Ardis Sunfeather, nee Bloodsky, had one way or another, succeeded in shoving Pengion clear out of her way in order to reach her daughter.

"How I missed you so, you little devil! You thought you could once again move across Azeroth and never see me again, did you now?" With that, her cheeks were gripped so hard, tears sprung from her eyes.

"Mother-" Faine tried to worm her way out of her mother's grip, but it was hopeless. The woman had both height and strength to her advantage, and oh, did she use them.

"My baby, you cannot begin to know how my heart raced when Pengi told me you would finally be coming home once again," their mother cooed before lastly removing her fingers from her eldest daughter's face. In an instant, the warrior was now struggling to breathe through her mother's hair as she was forced into a death grip of a hug.

Pengion cleared his throat then, but Ardis' embrace endured. Whether he acknowledged it or not, his rule was still under that of his mother's.

After a few more seconds, the mother elf had finally untangled herself from her daughter. She then made a move for Alastrine, but the priestess managed to sidestep the incoming hug and cheek pinch and instead gave a small bow.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Sunfeather, but we must speak to Lor'themar immediately. This was just a slight detour." Ardis scoffed.

"You two are prohibited from leaving this house until you are both cleaned and fed, understood?"

Faine groaned, wanting to have been able to get everything over with as soon as probable. She was still standing uncomfortably by Pengion as her mother tried once again to envelop the strange elf in a hug.

"You look well," came the phrase that nearly gave her a heart attack.

Just shrugging, she went for the honesty card. "You sure as hell do not. Did you get uglier or am I just in shock after not having to see your face for so long?"

Expecting a thrashing, Faine was more shocked to see her customarily stoic brother crack a grin. "Ouch."

Taking that as a good sign, she stopped herself before she was able to sigh in relief. So far, she was still in one piece, and if the day progressed as efficiently as this preliminary meeting had, they had nothing to worry about… on this side of Azeroth, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If it's not yet clear, a full break across the screen either indicates a large period of time passing, or a change in perspective. Two dashes (-) represent a smaller amount of time that has passed, because who the hell wants to spend like an extra hour building scenery until they get to another location. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me, because I know this is already super confusing on so many levels.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faine gets more news that her travels aren't yet over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.3k word chapter is LONG

Lady Ardis Sunfeather was a fine example of the sin'dorei's seemingly perpetual youth. Although centuries old (the precise number, she has vowed she will never tell), the elven matriarch radiated an aura of timeless beauty… or, near beauty.

Lengthy, blonde hair that naturally curled towards her slender midriff was coiffed in a technique that seemed as if it was done effortlessly. The rather simple red velvet dress she wore was bare of any ornamentation, combined with an artless white corset and slippers that suggested false modesty.

It was not until Faine reached her mother's face that she recognised something was not quite right. Her eyes were faint, blanketed by thick purple rings below her bottommost lashes. The speckles of brown that peppered her cheeks and nose, of which she passed down to all of her children, stood out against her sickly pale skin. The unpleasant scar that resided on her face for the past century, beginning at her chin, cutting both lips in half, and finishing by the left side of her nose, was rosy and raised. At first glimpse it would appear as if it were healing, in spite of its exact age.

It was when she saw the black veins sneaking up just past her collarbone that the eldest daughter grasped that something was very, very wrong. "Mother?" Faine inquired sensitively, drawing the elf in question's eyes to her. "Are you not well?"

Ardis smiled, appearing grim due to not only her mutilations but the symptoms that came with her noticeably reduced health. "No dear, I am fine. Why do you ask?" She murmured. The elf was self-consciously tugging the neckline of her dress higher to hide the creeping vines that threatened to travel further up, whether she knew it or not.

As it was apparent her mother did not desire to speak about her deteriorating well-being in front of her children, she hurriedly changed the subject. "My exquisite daughter, Pengi has told me he has a surprise for you." The two women and the priestess then rotated to look at him expectedly. Pengion cleared his throat and hoisted himself up from his chair, ushering the servants off to procure what he was looking for.

"I assumed that it would only be becoming of me to have a new set of armour made for my returned sister. I sought for something that would signify your heritage, but you are more than welcome to be discontented with it, if you please." At the end of his words, the servants had returned, four transporting an immense crate over to the seating room. They lightly positioned the crate down on the lavish cerulean carpet and left without a sound. Hesitant of what to do, Faine looked to her brother, who signalled her onward. "Please, do look."

The warrior stood, gingerly opening the crate, as to her brother's recommendation. Opening the rough wooden top with careful fingers, she practically jumped as it swung back on its hinges and hit the back of the container. Straightaway, the polished plate caught the sun and sparkled like refined jewels. "Pengion," she whispered with bated breath.

She was lost for words as her fingers glided down the individual sections of luminous golden plate. Stacked deftly beside was a heap of red mail under-armour, and besides that, embossed red leather with gold thread to hold it together. Near the front of the chest, a modest gold coronet sat atop a red cape with the Silvermoon City crest precisely sewed on in a muted gold. Folded smoothly beneath was a tabard with their House's crest sewed in place of the sin'dorei's.

As she extended a hand down to gently remove the tabard, her knuckles were cut on what appeared to be a sharp blade. Faine removed the cloth to look at what slashed her with a condemning eye. The sword, plausibly the size of her arm, was cautiously swathed in a bundle of red velvet. As she slid it out, she was amazed by the craftsmanship.

"That blade was made just for you. Not one single being has an identical one-" Pengion murmured over her shoulder, "As well as this." He reached past her to lift out the corresponding shield, handing it to her. As she held both armaments in her hands, miniscule emerald-coloured stones she missed while scrutinising began to pulsate and emit a green glow.

Their mother cleared her throat. "My children, come, sit!" She said hurriedly, patting the spot next to her for emphasis. "Noontime tea is approaching."

The warrior groaned the same time Pengion did. The two received a look from Ardis, to which they instantly sat down to. As they settled, servants arrived with trays of miscellaneous baked goods and china saucers, others following with the cups and the tea. As she crossed her legs, an auburn-haired girl bowed to offer Faine a plate. She took one and ransacked the small mountain of pastries until she found a crumbling tea biscuit. She nodded and the girl moved past her to do the same to Ardis.

The elf postponed her thoughts until the room was vacant. "Pengion," she initiated. "How do you feel about the new warchief?"

Her brother chuckled whole-heartedly as she took a mouthful of her biscuit. "Scarcely a warchief, if you ask me. Not to mention, if he is indeed responsible for my sister's disappearance, he will soon find himself without a head."

The eldest warrior breathed as Pengion continued. "The orc displeases me, but not as much as he seems to offend Theron. Last week I visited the Spire after news of the Reagent Lord's arrival. He was seething mad, practically red-faced as he chewed Hellscream out."

Their mother spilled her tea over her knees in her haste to straighten up.

" _I_  overheard that Lor'themar is nearly ready to take over the Isle," she gasped while patting herself down with a white tea towel. "It's such a shame, too. He only just arrived back. That unfortunate man, he is just about well-travelled now."

Faine, as she finished her scone, remained hushed while she listened to her family's chatter.

"What in nine hells is he going to the new continent for?" Alastrine spoke up finally. Her mother gave the priestess a look that quieted her while the warrior took a sip from the molten hot cup.

"Garrosh left Orgrimmar again, soon after the two of you did. He ought to be fighting for higher ground by now. It's only appropriate that Lor would do the same." The warrior's ears twitched at the news.

The room was suddenly thrown into deafening silence, as if they all were waiting for their missing kin to speak up, as she normally would have. The sheer red draperies quivered as a draft of wind swept into the room, gusting hair over the warrior's face and sending her skin into a fit of gooseflesh. She soundlessly pleaded Alastrine to speak up, but the woman turned her head away and said nothing.

It was only a matter of time that Pengion spoke up. "Come, help me get this crate into the dressing rooms. You are to speak to Theron at once."

She tried to disagree with him, but was unsuccessful. She was on her feet in a moment and helping her brother drag the crate down the hall in another, leaving her companion to the mercy of her mother.

They entered the ornate room, full of gold, crimson, and aquamarine curtains that functioned as slight spaces of concealment. He propelled her behind a blue curtain and in a heartbeat the redheaded maid was with her, opening the crate that had just slid in from under the dangling drapery. "Dress her only in the leather and mail," her brother shouted from behind the drapes. "I will be assisting her with the rest."

Faine willed the gods to let the dressing take long, but the servant was hasty. She had not even come up with one solitary justification as to why she should not speak with the leader of the blood elves before her maid was wrenching the curtains back.

"Perfect fit," Pengion proclaimed, the sunlight burning her eyes as she turned. "Now, come here and we will discuss what you will say to Lor'themar in a few minutes."

She shimmied over to him with a grimace. The other warrior bent to pick up the grieves, which were fundamentally plated chaps, before kneeling in front of her. Had she not been wearing the leather and mail under them, they would have been exceedingly revealing.

"You need to make sure he wishes to sever all remaining ties with the orc before his parting," he grunted, reaching around her legs to fasten them into place.

"Whatever you know about Hellscream that could anger Lor'themar, say it. Fib if you must. Bring up Corri. By the time you leave, he should be planning an assault on Orgrimmar." Next came the chest piece, which once again would have been skimpy without under-armour. "From what I know, the orc is flinging the Horde into autocracy. Play on that. Tell him how you have had first-hand knowledge with what he is doing."

When the plate was secured around her midsection, he aided her as she put the golden gloves on in stillness.

"Pengion, I do not like this," she mumbled. He buckled a belt around her waist and scowled.

"It is for the best, and for our people." He paused. "For Corri." The mutilated elf attached the cloak to the pauldrons before clipping them to her shoulders. "Our attentiveness is not in the Horde, but here, in Silvermoon."

He had just taken a step back to give her an additional look over before he beckoned for her to put the boots on. As she slid her feet into the cold metal, he came forward once more and draped the crimson coloured tabard over her head.

"Hey!" She screamed, momentarily blinded until he tugged it down. He was met with a grimace when her head was free, to which his lips twitched at.

Pengion adjusted the fabric, pulling it under the cloak and behind it, then once more took another step back. He seemed to be satisfied, judging from the expression that crossed his face.

"It stands out boldly against the cobalt," he spoke, baffling her until she grasped that her back was to the drape she was formerly being dressed behind.

He walked back to the crate and removed the weapons, once more offering them to her. The green gems glowed again as she twisted her wrists to get another look at them. The blade was fitted with a golden phoenix as the hilt. Green emeralds pirouetted down the centre of the blade, peering through on both sides, standing out against the band of red metal. The shield, also fashioned like a phoenix's face, had dual emeralds that pulsed in place of eyes. Faine scrutinised and noted it made the shield appear to blink each time the gems throbbed light, then back to normal.

"Had you not just gawked at metal for well over three minutes straight, I would have presumed you did not like your gifts," Pengion snickered, drawing her out of her thoughts. He was smiling when she looked up at him. The sight of curved lips on his face was sporadic. In that instant, she felt the only word that could define the exchange was 'tender'.

"Pengion, do not act like you are ignorant of my appreciation."

His smile grew. "I am just waiting for you to say thank you, sister." Faine returned his smile and he turned. The gesture had meant more than two words ever could.

She stared after him, and only began running to catch up with him when he rotated his head with one of his pale brows curved. They returned together to the seating room, where Ardis shrieked with pleasure, causing Alastrine to nearly drop her cup of coffee.

"Oh, Faine, you look spectacularly dangerous," she fussed, standing and rushing to her. "How I wish I could see you in action, hacking appendages off of our foes while looking like a goddess of the sun," she spoke affectionately while caressing her daughter's face with the back of her knuckles.

Pengion shook his head before he turned to Faine, taking her hand. "You must take your leave now to speak to the Regent Lord." He let go and shoved her towards the archway. "Go now, Faine. You do not have much time."

Alastrine made to stand but was halted by the eldest Sunfeather child.

Her mother hugged Faine before she left, whispering encouraging words into her hair before letting her go. The smile Ardis gave her elevated Faine's spirits, and she left the room.

She passed doorway after doorway, some open to reveal maids as they neatened beds and closets, others revealing chefs preparing dinner. She passed family portraits, amused at the one that portrayed a young Faine pulling an even younger Corriana's hair, her sister with tears and snot running down her face while the other smiled with unconcealed delight. It pained her heart.

There was a portrait of the five of them beside it; the warrior, then a child, sitting next to Pengion, who was missing a front tooth at the time. Their father stood behind them with a hand on each of their shoulders. Ardis was beside him, tucked under the arm that was resting on their son, smiling brilliantly as she held a bundle of silk in her arms. A newborn Corriana was hidden somewhere inside, nothing but tufts of golden hair sticking out from the red material.

Faine could not keep her eyes off of Beltion, the Sunfeather patriarch. Although she resented him for the majority of her adult life, her heart panged with the recollections of him she prized. She shook her head and picked up her pace once more. As she turned left onto a new hallway, she braced herself for the row of canvases that ornamented the walls. On either side were portraits of their fallen kin and friends, all painted to signify who they were in their living days.

Adris's mother, Iorel Bloodsky, was the first of many from the side her granddaughter was walking down. The only pale-haired grandparent was smug when not only all her children, but also all her grandchildren, succeeded in being born bearing her crown of golden hair. She stood in her painting with her legs widespread, her blade in front of her, both hands resting on it as it ruined the marble flooring. The grandmother Faine loved the most was portrayed younger than she ever saw her, eyes narrowed in a soundless challenge and a smirk on her ruby lips. Her curls were blowing in the wind behind her like a golden curtain. The warrior absentmindedly toyed with her own locks as she revered the massive image.

She recoiled at the abrupt clatter that came from further down the hall, near the kitchen. Eager for the disturbance, she rushed down the hallway, wary to evade viewing the one piece on the wall she had refused to look at since its creation. She passed painting after painting, a distortion of lost souls before she lastly arrived in the foyer. Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, she departed the household and took the winding steps down two at a time.

Their home was situated just off of the notorious Murder Row, in the Court of the Sun. The diminishing light caught on the water of the colossal fountain, dancing mischievously as she dashed down towards the steps that would take her to the upper level. Residents sat about the fountain to relish in the last wisps of warmth from the benches. Others milled around the waggons of merchandise that usually set up during noon.

A springpaw lynx carved out of cherry lumber caught her eye, standing out from the other novelties on the surface of the old woodworker's cart. She was contemplating purchasing it for Corriana before she realized her mistake. Sighing, she burst into a jog, hoping to reach the Sunfury Spire before the sun was fully set.

By the time she arrived at the foot of the colossal staircase she was already breathless. She was not used to having to dress in so many heavy layers of armour, and the sword and shield on her hip and back were not helping. The warrior hesitated for a few minutes to collect her breath before she began ascending the stairs at a leisurely pace.

The only thoughts that came to her during her journey to the Spire were of the things she could say to the Regent Lord. Pengion had only given her a rudimentary guideline of what she was to do, leaving the finer specifics to Faine to figure out. She inaudibly cursed him then, stepping up the final step to the uppermost platform of the Court.

The miraculously clean crimson carpet that ran from the bottom of the steps up into the Spire was lined with Theron's kingly guards, all soundless and motionless, observing her only with their eyes. Their polished spears shimmered in the beginning shafts of moonlight with an inaudible warning. She was not stopped as she strolled down the positions of reinforced men until she stood at the great wooden doors.

The guards took one look at her tabard and moved to the side, knocking once before wordlessly opening the doors. She offered a nod of thanks and skimmed through the crack that was just wide enough for her to pass. On the other side, she didn't move at the lurid wail of tarnished hinges or the bang of the door. She merely gazed at the woman who stood face-to-face with her.

She stood the exact height as Faine, her raven hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head. Her robes were dense and sophisticated and pooled at her feet on the floor. Her nose pointed upwards and her face was scrunched as she studied the warrior.

"And you are?" She asked, drumming a quill on the parchment the elf had just noted she was holding. "Lady Fainestra Sunfeather," she muttered. She detested using her full name, and detested using her title more. Using both in the same breath of air was unbearably painful for the elf.

"Is that a 'y' or an 'i'?" The black-haired woman questioned then, looking up at her expectedly. "I," Faine muttered back, jutting her hip out petulantly.

The other elf rolled her eyes. "How may I help you,  _Lady Sunfeather_?" She breathed in a mocking tone, continuing the quill-tapping the second she had scrawled Faine's name down on her timetable.

"I must speak to Lor'themar," the warrior barked, her tolerance wearing thin. The only sign she received to show that the woman had heard her was another eye roll and an arched brow. "Immediately," Faine added with gritted teeth.

"Well, the Regent Lord is presently with an audience, so sit down," the lady chirped with a fake smile. She freed a hand and waved it at a row of lush, blue chairs. The gesture alerted the elven woman to the name tag pinned to her vivid robes, revealing that the woman undeniably had a name.

With a strangled cry of annoyance, Faine clanked to a chair and dropped herself into it, sinking down in the malleable material. Her bottom sank further to the floor with each passing second until her nose was level with her knees.  _Gwionnin_  whinnied at her before she turned and returned to her small, cluttered desk, near the doors.

Having nothing better to do than take in her environment, Faine looked around. The interior hadn't transformed much since her last visit, nearly a year preceding. The only things that stood out to her as new were the sheer, red and blue draperies swathed around in arcs, and the entity wrapped in aggravation that was Gwionnin. As her eyes skimmed the rows of past leaders, she then realized the portrait of Lor'themar was also moderately recent.

She was still squinting at his portrait when a man slinked out from the curtains that led to the main rooms. Not even fretting to wait for the secretary's go-ahead, the warrior was up on her feet and running to the curtain before Gwionnon's stifled "hey!" could trouble her.

She moved the blue fabric out of her way and ducked under it, remerging on the other side. The clanging of her plate forewarned the three figures in front of her, who all turned to eye her inquisitively.

Faine straightened promptly, clearing her throat and giving a quick bow. The men didn't speak and neither did she. She was about to turn and leave before Lor'themar's face broke out into a wide grin.

"Well, if it isn't Lady Fainestra," he sniggered, swiftly stepping to her, "I was afraid you would never come back here." He gripped her plated hand and gave it a chaste kiss.

"Do not flatter me," she smiled. "Have you not heard? I am not a lady." He responded with a clap on the shoulder. The noise echoed around the intricately ornate room. He returned the smile before seizing her wrist and hauling her back to the other two men.

"Faine, you recall Rommath and Halduron, do you not?" Lor'themar asked, giving her a sideways look.

"How could I not?" Faine asked. "When we were children, Halduron had a heartwarmingly massive crush on me," she snickered, causing the room to burst into laughter.

The Ranger-General couldn't contain the blush that swept over his face. It only developed as the elven woman stood on her toes to mischievously yank on a loose strand of his golden hair. "I would ask him 'If you truly like me that much, would you eat mud for me?'" She let go of his hair and stepped back.

"Did you?" The Grand Magister probed from his right.

Halduron moaned. "I did," he said. Once again, the three elves laughed at his hardships.

"You never told me you were such a romantic," Theron struggled to say amongst fits of laughter. Faine's mirth died down, shortly followed by the rest.

She exhaled. "As much as I treasure this reunion, I must speak to Lor, alone." The two men looked at their friend, who nodded for them to leave. The two elves observed the other two leave before Lor'themar turned to her.

"You look well," he murmured, amused. She shrugged.

"I would say the same for you, but I am very perceptive of that masked blank canvas you wear." The Regent Lord feigned ignorance. The warrior let out a small snort and turned to sit. The other did the same, sitting adjacent from her with his body turned to face her, nearly identical to their last meeting.

"I am glad you could make it back so quickly."

Faine scrabbled with her fingers until she elected to wring her hands in her lap. "Well," she began, licking her lips, "I really had no other choice, did I?" She answered, dropping her hands and looking back up at him.

He threw his head back and laughed. "No, you really did not," Theron said sardonically.

Instantaneously, his eyes saddened. "There has yet to be any new news about your sister. The outcome seems bleak, no matter how you choose to look at it." Faine nodded, expecting his words.

"I have been told by many sources that Hellscream seems to leave a sour taste in your mouth." Theron narrowed his eyes at the elf's change of subject.

"That is no concern to you," he said cautiously.

She gave him a lopsided grin. "That is fully my concern. Whatever concerns my sister, concerns me, and it just so happens that Hellscream is the most likely candidate for her abduction."

The Regent Lord slumped back in his chair, astonished by what he was hearing. "I am right to assume that your brother is the architect behind this?" He drawled, his free eye rolling once. She nodded simply.

He rubbed his face with a hand, his eye squeezing shut. "There always seems to be something with your family. They either know everything or know nothing, and both is tiring." He faced her again.

"Oh, Lor, please do not act in such a way. You seek blame, as we all do, but it does not lay on any one of us. There is no need to be patronising." She once more rearranged herself so that she was inclined towards him. With elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, she looked up at him. "Why have you summoned me?"

"My apologies." He waved a hand at her and she sat back down into her seat.

Faine tapped her finger on her chin as she waited for him to answer.

"Do you speak Common, by any chance?" He asked, the question out of the blue for her.

"Why?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at what he was getting at. "Just answer me," he growled exasperatedly.

The warrior stood and began pacing. She glanced around the room to the pillows on the floor, biting her lip.

"Yes, I am quite fluent," she finally responded, stopping in front of his seated form. "I answered your question, so now you answer mine," she pointed out. He assumed the leaning position she had prior, looking up at her with a tilted chin that rested on his knuckles.

"I am to begin renegotiating the possible alliance of the sin'dorei to King Varian Wrynn's court. However, I will not be able to myself this time, and so I wish for you to do so in lieu of my absence."

The look she had plastered on her face at his words made him chuckle. "Relax, Faine. They are only negotiations. Nothing is set in stone yet."

She stumbled for words. "I-You… what?" Lor'themar shook his head lugubriously. Not only was the news shocking to hear, but to have him put as much trust into her as he was, was enough to leave her speechless.

It took the elf a full minute to find her words. "Lor, I do not know what to say," she at last managed to spit out. He stood up, causing her to take a step back.

"To what? The negotiations, or that I'm asking you to go be the negotiator in my absenteeism?" She simply nodded.

He gave her a small smile before speaking.

"Faine, our families have been entwined for centuries. I have enough trust in you to ask you to do me this favour. Besides, any sort of involvement with the Alliance will boost our searches for Corri."

She stared up at the ceiling, pretending to be enthralled by the clinging arcs of velvet and silk around the extravagant chandelier as she thought.

The woman finally let out a choked laugh, tears springing from her eyes.

"Oh, Lor. You are mad. Truly and utterly mad, for my sister, that is." She wiped away the liquid with the back of her plated hand, smearing it over her cheeks. "Only a man so deep in love would ask the enemy for help in finding his lost lover."

She let out an unsteady breath before shaking her head in the same manner he had done a few moment before.

"No, I am not," he spoke, attempting to sound sure of himself. "Your claims are wholly false. I care deeply for your sister, but only as a close friend. Nothing more." At her laughter, he added: "Not to mention the age gap. Disgusting." She laughed harder, and he eventually joined in. It felt good.

"All right," he concluded after stopping his laughter, "Maybe I am a little mad, but I cannot help it."

Faine shook her head. "You are a terrible creature, Lor'themar Theron."

The Regent Lord strode across the room and peeked through the curtain. "What time is it?" He called out. The warrior heard the faint sound of Gwionnon's voice answering him, only catching the 'my lord' at the end.

"Speaking of terrible creatures…" Faine growled. Theron then retrieved himself from the fabric and faced her once more.

"Gwionnin will be replaced shortly. And it is rather late, so I advise you to head back home. You leave for Elwynn Forest at the break of dawn." She almost wept at the thought of traveling again.

"What about Alastrine?"

Lor stopped to ponder her question, seemingly as he had completely forgotten about the other elf. "Take her with you."

He crossed the room and rummaged through the drawers of a desk before he found what he was searching for. He returned to her position, holding a hand out. In his plated palm sat a pair of delicate golden pins of the sin'dorei crest, similar to the one that sat on her back, on the cloak.

"This identifies you as my person advisor. Wear it on your tabard at all times, especially when you are in Alliance territory. You may still be attacked by adventurers, but if you are forced to defend yourself, they will not prosecute you if you were wearing it."

He then pinned it to the red fabric, making sure the clasp mechanism worked, and handed her the other before stepping back.

He gave her a smirk and then looked at the curtain. "You should get going. I would ask you if you require a guard to escort you home, but I am sure you are more than capable of handling yourself." The woman smiled.

"Theron, you will not even offer to take me home personally after spending this amount of time with me, alone? I am hurt," she teased, punching him in the shoulder.

He bowed mockingly at her, a wide grin on his face when he stood back up. "I would, my lady, but I am awfully lethargic after the deliberating activities that just occurred behind these curtains between the two of us."

They looked at each other with straight faces after, until they both cracked and fell to the floor in a heap of limbs and laughter.

"Oh Lor, you are a  _dog_ ," Faine cried, her stomach hurting from laughing so hard. She was sure she was going to wet herself when he let out a shaky howl from the floor beside her.

They laid on their backs, calming down, until he stood up held out a hand for her to take. He hoisted her up and she couldn't help but chuckle again.

"I appreciate you taking the time to listen to me," he said then, face flushed red. He gave her another mock bow before he spun her around and shoved her out of the room. The warrior nearly tripped over the curtains but caught herself just in time.

Gwionnin turned her head around to give Faine a nasty look that reeked of annoyance. Smiling, she passed by her, head held high. She paused right before the guards, and spun around to face the raven-haired woman. "Oh, Gwionnin?" She said, sickly sweetly. "Lor wanted me to relay to you that you are fired."

She trudged out the door happily, until she realized she would have to pack once again for her departure to Stormwind.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blood elf is in Stormwind for the first time in her life and doesn't quite hit it off with the angry human king.

The spacious room was set alight mutedly by braziers. The immense chandelier, dangling from the centermost portion of the ceiling, was lined with hundreds of silvery tapers. Each dribble threatened to land on a credulous individual's head as they hustled about, each minding their own. The grey stone floor supplemented an extensive line of inhabitants, all breathing to each other impatiently. At the front stood a weathered man, insignificant of physique but dressed in ragtag attire. His lengthy beard was brushed with streaks of white and grey, his shoulder-length mop of a mane in identical condition. Each strand appeared to be saturated with a reasonable veneer of grease. The small cluster of women behind him gagged at the fish odour that wafted towards them with each gentle breeze from the numerous arced windows.

The man, no doubt underprivileged, knit his brows in confusion. "My king, I don't know what to say," he murmured. The in question breathed a sigh. "Stonebridge, is it?" The filthy man bobbed is head towards his king. "You have come to the keep each day for the past three months, continuously cantankerous about the same thing. I have told you more than once that the solitary person that is responsible for your  _problem_ is you."

The king upstretched a plated hand to interject the protest that was about to tumble from the old man's wrinkled lips. "This will be the last time you waste my time. Move your wagon out from the middle of the flagstone path. I expect to overhear no more grievances from you about your toppled fish."

King Varian Wrynn gave the man who stood perpendicular to his right an oblique look. He bent down at the flick of a finger. "Landon," he growled as he observed the fish-cart man ushered out by guards, "by the break of dawn tomorrow, I anticipate there to be two boxes mounted on the doors of this Keep. One ought to read 'complaints' and the other 'inquiries'. If I were to have to sit another day on this throne, listening to worthless pleas, I think I may hang myself from the chandelier." Landon nodded quickly, his orange curls bouncing. He straightened up and once more assumed a stoic face.

As if on cue, the king's most reliable counsellor was seen jostling his way through the line of waiting civilians. The room was swiftly thrown into a state of pandemonium, the sounds of protest piercing the once calm air like blades.

"My king," he heaved with a rushed bow, "I'm afraid there is someone here who, relatively rudely, commanded to speak to you in private audience."

The sat man rose to his feet promptly, the commotion instantly fading down to silence. "Who?" He questioned.

"An advisor, from Silvermoon City," he whispered. The king of the Alliance grunted. "And where is this advisor, presently?" His own advisor swallowed before meeting his eyes once more.

"I left her in the central meeting hall, my k-"

He was cut off by a forceful thrust as his leader shouldered past him. " _Next time_ , update me before you allow an  _enemy_  into my meeting rooms, Reed."

The crowd of people had trickled down to a handful during the exchange. Those left over hastily parted a passageway for their agitated king. With a few words from Reed and Landon, the Keep was emptied out and the doors were fortified shut. Wrynn did not cringe at the accustomed sound of rusted complaint. He was at the moment using every fiber of his being to halt the vehemence that threatened to leak out from his waning willpower. Normally he would be thankful to be free of his taxing duties, but then again, normally he was not informed a possible threat of a person was nonchalantly let into his home without his authorisation.

His footsteps rang out in the stillness, the dim and dreary halls offering him no relief as he struggled to control his breathing, as well as his temper. The guards posted in front of the chamber had moved out of the way without requiring instruction and hauled the doors open for him.

The first thing he saw was flaxen hair rolled into a bun amid long, pale ears, resting atop golden arms. The fingers tapped a rhythm onto the hind of the chair, the tune a carefree melody. Beside her sat another elf, a priestess from the looks of her attire. He turned to gesture the other guards out of the room and surveyed them as they shut the door.

When he turned back, the warrior was out of her seat and standing. Her hands rested on her hips and an annoyed look overtook her face. His digits jerked by the hilt of his sword and he was virtually entertained when hers did the same. The woman's companion stood at the subtle hint of violence.

He approached them silently then, and sat down heavily into a chair that groaned in complaint under his weight. He crossed his arms and looked up at her expectedly. "Well?" The king viewed the clench of her jaw.

"I did not come all this way to be first greeted by ghastly weather, and then by a distressed human sovereign." His eyes travelled to the pin on her chest as he tightened his eyes. He had not anticipated her voice to sound the way it did, and coupled with the rustic scratch of her accent and her sharp words, he was rather astonished.

"I am in no way distressed," he spat out as she finally sat. She had taken the seat right next to his and their plated knees brushed together with a shrill cry.

She faintly rolled her eyes. "If you are finished, I would quite like to get down to the business that I spent a week on a ship for." She did not let him speak before she started.

"Now. Lor'themar sincerely apologises for not being here today but I am sure you will forgive him faster than I will."

He barked a single, highly unamused laugh at her attitude. "You seem rather annoyed by having to be sharing the same air as me, let alone speaking to me." She titled her head to the side to give him a glower. "Emotions are contagious, human."

He offered her a smirk. "Please, you may refer to me as 'my lord' or even 'my king,' as you choose." The laugh she gave him was honest.

"Oh, do spare me of your superiority, Wrynn. As long as I am here bearing a white flag, I will be providing you with no such formalities. You and I, I am afraid to tell you, are equals from this point forward." The blood elf shifted, piling muddy boots one over the other on the polished table right next to the king's armoured arm. He let her continue with no interruption.

" _My_  lord is presently rooted in new land. I would assume you are well informed in the matters concerning Pandaria?" She was not expecting an answer. "As I said beforehand, Lor'themar is-" He chose then to interrupt.

"Yes, yes, I had received a letter prior to your arrival. I am aware of why you are in here in Theron's absence. What I do not comprehend is why a pair of unknown women are playing paperboy for the blood elven leader." He watched with concealed enjoyment at the way her face fell into a grimace as rapidly as it did. His delight only grew when she turned her body completely away from him and crossed her arms as she coughed to clear her throat. The tips of her ears reddened and her jaw ticked.

Varian was not sure what to expect next, but her words were definitely not the ones he thought she would say. "Regardless of my stature in society, I am quite honestly shocked by your rudeness. For now I will ignore it, so that we may speak the universal tongue of politics."

She was staring thinly at the exposed brick walls for a few moments until she turned her head back to him. It was then as he looked into the unchallenged arrogance of her green depths that the king of Stormwind became aware that she was not the stereotypical average 'unknown' as he had put it. "What family did you say you were from?" He asked skeptically.

The woman, mediocre in looks by blood elven standards, gave him a bright smile that leaked sarcasm. "I did not. I am honestly rather appalled that it has taken such a kingly man this long to ask for a lady's name." He nearly choked.

"Lady? You mean to tell me you come from a noble background?" It then dawned on him that the woman sprawled in front of him, covered in mud, was a noble. His vision was blurred as he let out a torrent of laughter, but he could still make out the appearance of her annoyed face.

"Am I wrong to would have assumed that Lor'themar gave you our names at least?"

She had waited tolerantly for him to return to a neutral state. "No," he breathed, "you were not. Forgive me, but it is not every day that I see a noble, blood elven at that, in such a state." She arched a brow when he swept a hand in the air over her person.

"I may have been born into a noble family, but make no mistake, Varian Wrynn; I am no lady."

And instantaneously, he knew that was that. He was not one to be give orders to, especially not by somebody out of his court, but he knew better than to aggravate a principled woman who rejected to call herself so. Instead, he wracked his brain for her name. Theron may have left out her titles, but he  _had_  given him a name.

"Fainestra was all he mentioned," he muttered, and instantly she bit out a " _Faine_ " and wheezed.

"I am Faine of House Sunfeather, and my companion is Alastrine Morningfall, who is not a noble, but is very highly regarded in Theron's court."

He was acutely mindful as to why her name had suddenly sounded so familiar.

"Ah. This all makes perfect sense now," he chuckled. The blood elf gave him an inquisitive look. "The impetuous nature, the complete lack of respect to authority… blonde hair, pale skin, freckles. The textbook Sunfeather persona."

"Excuse me?" She coughed, more than a little shocked, primarily that he had knowledge of her family.

"I truly should have been clever enough to connect the dots earlier. You even look like Pengion."

He observed the second fall of her face at the reference to a male's name. "Once again, I am not here to discuss such matters, whether it concerns my kin or not."

The human king merely shrugged. As skeptical as he was over the woman's expression, he was more so skeptical about the way she dismissed her elder brother so hurriedly. "I would be lying if I said I was not minutely shocked that your family is so close to Theron, even after all that has transpired."

He watched the woman bristle. "Nothing has happened between our two families that would have alienated us. I will say this for the last time: we  _must_  get back to business."

"I would much rather talk about why I should even consider speaking to you, especially after the damage your brother's forces have caused me in the past. Actually, I would like to know why you are here in lieu of Theron's absence more than anything."

She huffed then. "You expect me to speak of Lor'themar's reasoning if he did not even wish to disclose it to you himself? Do you already think of me as an inept fool?"

He raised his hand before she could go on, in the same method he had done previously in the throne room. "I never said you were such. I just wish to clear things up before discussing negotiations." The blood elf gave her companion a strange look and an eyeroll before turning her attention back to him.

"I am afraid telling you why I am here and Lor'themar is not may not only ruin his plans, but cause a slight rift between us. Humour me with this one secret."

He exhaled sharply. "I am afraid I cannot do that."

She stood and grumbled roughly under her breath in another language. "Thank you, really, for wasting my time. If you would excuse us, we will be taking our leave now."

He stood, too, drawing his sword, which in turn caused the priestess to stand as well. "Sit," was all he barked.

Faine looked at him as if he had budded an extra head before drawing her own blade. "I do not think so."

"I would advise you to put that away. You must not know that what you are doing will lead to consequences."

"The only consequence of defending myself that I would have to face is my broken pride, if I were to lose, that is. Seeing as that is highly unlikely, I would advise  _you_  to seize pointing your weapon at me and allow us to leave, peacefully."

He was not sure whether to commend her or whack her for being so egotistical. Instead, he grunted and once more told her to sit down. As she, expectedly, did not do as she was told, the king sighed.

"I am not obligated to deliberate anything with an advisor, particularly when it pertains to something so outstandingly delicate. The only influence you hold is to make recommendations."

"Well then, if you so gently put it that way, as an advisor, I would recommend that you sheath your weapon and pay attention to what I have to tell you." She dropped her own sword to the ground and reclaimed her preceding seat.

Leisurely, he waited for the other woman to sit before he shadowed them and gave the warrior an additional dirty look as her feet also establish their spot back on the refined table. She appeared to select to disregard the look, instead picking up where she left off with her tapping.

"What do you want?" He at last growled after almost three minutes of tapping-filled quiet.

"We must debate a few things. Others we cannot speak about until we negotiate, I am afraid. Lor'themar's detailed orders."

"We appear to be running in circles, you and I. I cannot permit you to-"

"Forget about the negotiations," she cut him off, "Hellscream needs to be dethroned, immediately. There is about to be a revolt in Orgrimmar, one that will leave thousands of innocent lives dead if you do not throw a quarter in and help us.

"Garrosh has power, more power than we ever thought possible for one man to possess. Whatever he is doing is unjust and an abomination to nature… Lor'themar is in Pandaria, attempting to stop him. He has stolen some sort of ancient relic and is presently corrupting the new continent. They took my sister, nearly a year ago, but now I may have something even bigger to worry about."

Her eyes were widespread and she seemed winded, and in that instant Varian Wrynn could not even bring himself to be smug about getting the information he wanted out of her anyways. All he could do was suck in a long breath and let it back out in a low whistle.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faine meets two people she was not expecting to find in the Stockades.

The air was brisk with frost when she awoke. She could taste the placid embrace of frost as she stretched, extending exhausted limbs under the thick velvet sheets. The navy blue duvet creased around her tanned legs as she sat up. The elf's fingers traced the thin stitches of gold around the fabric, until she had to stretch to reach the thread. She took one last breath.

It had been nearly three months since she had arrived in Stormwind. Not much had changed since the first fateful meeting in terms of a rebellion, but it was increasingly clear was that there would be one. She was often alone, very rarely speaking to Alastrine as the priestess took it upon herself to help the wounded in the Keep's infirmary. She suspected it was mostly due to boredom, as Faine had had little to no contact with the human king since their arrival and thus the two were free to do as they pleased.

Removing the blanket from herself, the warrior commenced her day. She bathed in the adjoined room, scrutinising the lavender flowers that danced with the floating strands of hair in the clear water. She dried herself with the cerulean towel out of the stack of cerise linen, combed her hair with a wide-toothed comb. She fixed her hair into a tight circle on the crown of her skull, fastened into place with pins made of ivory and rubies.

She dressed herself leisurely, permitting the cool air from the open windows to send ripples along her bare skin. The glint of steel caught her eye from across the chamber. She stepped towards the wooden bureau and found a pin a top her folded tabard. It was like everything else in the room; gold, blue, and a symbol of the Alliance.

She jeered mildly at the lion's head, the left side of her mouth lifting faintly. "Predictable."

Once entirely dressed, she flattened her crimson tabard out in front of her. During one of their rare encounters, Varian had tried to coax her out of the colourful plate and into one of his own standard issue sets, but she refused. Her own crest glowered back at her from the cold wood.

She played with the human's pin for a few moments, all while never drifting her eyes from Lor'themar's. So modest, yet so vulgar were these thin fragments of painted sheet metal. She jammed the lion under the phoenix, violating a silent rule, one that said to always keep the other court's pin above your own. She knew it would garner stares and raised brows, but it was a memorandum.  _I know where my loyalties lay._

The blood elf unlocked the heavy doors, swathed in the velvet hues of her people. Each side was perpetually safeguarded by greatly armoured guards. She acknowledged the one on the left. Young, petite, and naïve. She could see lively indigo eyes from under the helm, but nothing more.

"Eileen," she addressed her, as she reasoned it compulsory. It was one thing to be reserved, but an entire other to be discourteous.

The clear-eyed human gave her a solid nod and fell unswervingly into place behind the blood elf. Faine was not sure where she was going then, but had the pantries in mind. She tapped her fingers against her right thigh as they strode.

They passed innumerable doors, countless drapes of navy banners. Guards passed by every now and then, eyeing her scrupulously. She only raised her head higher.

The pair of armoured women reached the focal room of the Keep in under ten minutes. There, they caught the consideration of countless pairs of eyes. Only one seemed strictly attracted, stalking to them with weighty feet.

"Miss Sunfeather," he called to her, using the Common translation of her name. His voice was grating and as lurid as his footsteps. "You are anticipated in the Stockades." He spoke deliberately, as if he figured she could not understand him.

"The Stockades?" She reverberated. "Why?"

He shifted. "As the ambassador of the blood elves, there is someone there you may be interested in." Undeniably, she was interested.

She tilted her head and twisted around to look at Eileen. The woman only shrugged, as if the update was new to her as well. When she turned back, the man with the heavy steps was already gone.

"He does that," emanated the first words out of her guard's mouth since they met, months ago.

Faine permitted the woman to lead her through the flagstone backstreets, past faces that stared right through her as if she were an apparition. The cloak over her head hid her ears but the plate and tabard spoke dimensions.

Their footsteps resonated together through the boulevards, the unkind air chilling their noses. Soon they walked parallel to the canal, boats stippling the unblemished water, until they came across a bare building. It seemed no matter the culture, the stockade of a city always appeared the same, if only slightly altered.

She was her own captive here, imprisoned inside barriers that decorated her as a merciless reaper. She was an extraneous creature, a force of unknown power and motivation and one only read about in dusty, tomes riddled with dog-eared pages.

She was an addict, with eyes that exhibited her flaw on a pedestal, diffusely lit by fel energies that streamed through her veins, even though she had not touched the stuff since being in Corriana's room with the detectives. Either way, she did not belong here.

Profoundly safeguarded doors were opened with two terse shakes of heads. Eileen shouldered past numerous armoured men. The brief flash of eyes that the blood elf caught were ones that expressed annoyance and the smallest hint of anger. She watched the synthetic blue hair of her companion's helmet whip back and forth with her head as she flashed those same eyes to each being she passed; a warning to all.

They descended numerous stairs, passed numerous cells, past numerous inmates that bellowed unsophisticated comments to both women in every language under the bleeding sun. They were dirtied by indefinite amounts of time, locked behind bars for the unforeseeable future for whatever unspeakable crimes they had committed.

At the end of the wing, a great hubbub could be overheard and perceived. A group of men distinguishable as Wrynn's men crowded around a small, blonde woman, who screamed strong disputes to all of their faces. They contended in front of a cell, the occupant anonymous to Faine at that point.

When they finally were near enough to the group that they were able to lure attention to themselves, the warrior noted the fuming woman was truly like herself; a blood elf. Unusually, the unidentified subject in the cell behind the group was also a blood elf, contaminated by filth and with knotted brown hair.

"What is going on here?" The warrior asked in Common, instantly receiving an outbreak of replies. The intersecting singings did not take long to irritate her, and she silenced them all at once. "I would  _specifically_  request to know why I have been called down to a pit of hell itself, in front of a cell holding one of my own."

The blonde woman protracted a hand, to which the warrior took. "Valeera," she spoke punctually, picking to dive right into an answer. "They found Evagria a few days ago, floating comatose towards the docks on a seahorse. She says she was in Vashj'ir after the Cataclysm, but that was years ago."

Faine was confused, as no one appeared to be able to add the story up in a way that made sense. She was about to speak before a lurid squawking initiated in the blood elf's cell, which appeared to have been coming from a murloc that emerged from behind Evagria.

The other blonde elf shrugged, her face wrinkled up at the penetrating cries. The enigmatic prisoner began quieting the scaled creature, until it finally calmed down. "This is Mrglina," derived the first words out of the imprisoned elf's mouth, all in Thalassian.

An abysmal, resonating snarl sounded from behind the group. Faine turned to find a gigantic white cat pacing the cell across from Evagria's, fur prickling. Through the airborne spittle and the purple tattoo on the cat's arm, she was able to infer that it was a druid, explicitly a night elf. From then on she made it a point to ignore it, as best as she could, as there were more incompatible issues at hand that she had to burden herself with.

"Why?" She asked, incapable of thinking of anything else to say. "How?" The elf, who publicised herself to be a paladin, clarified that she would tell them everything once the pair of blonde elves were able to get her and her murloc out of the cell and back to Silvermoon or Orgrimmar. "That is not the finest idea," Faine interjected. "Orgrimmar is a warzone." The news did not seem to be fresh to Valeera, she noted.

"What? What happened?" Evagria appeared to be very late on numerous matters, which additionally did not help clarify how she had been drifting out at sea for so long. "Never mind, actually. Just get me the fuck outta here and tell me after." A bottomless sigh came from one of the males, and all three women turned to gaze at them.

"For security reasons, we must tell you to speak in plain Common, so that we are able to comprehend you."

The words carried a frustrated din from the incarcerated paladin. "For the last time,  _ **I can't understand you!**_ "

While everything around her looked to have developed even more complicated, all the elven warrior could do was pinch the bridge of her nose and attempt to accumulate her skidding sanity at the awareness that her job had just become even more challenging.

"What is the elf doing in here, anyways? Shouldn't she be executed by Hellscream, not Wrynn?" The cat, sedentary near the bars of her cell and glaring at the cluster of people, swished her tail agitatedly.

"There will be no executions taking place, as far as I am concerned," the blood elf told her, facing the paladin once more.

Eileen coughed from beside her, effectively drawing the attention of all the beings in her radius. "Actually… you will be interpreting for Evagria during her sentencing."

The colour exhausted from Faine's face before returning as a shade of deep red. "I demand to speak to Wrynn, immediately. Evagria, I will be back for you as soon as I can, to take you home."

The improvised group dispersed then, with the warrior following her escort out, and Valeera trailing Faine.

"You fucking better!" The paladin yelled after them, grasping the bars of her cell and struggling to rattle them, to no avail, in emphasis.

Outside the Keep, Faine physically blazed. Her skin was burning and clammy from the blood streaming through her veins in rage. Valeera and Eileen had to jog to keep up with her, the former struggling to stop her near the start of the last set of steps to the doors.

"Listen, I recognize that you're angry, but you need to calm down. Anger is something that is highly infectious to Varian, and with you like this, he'll trigger. That is something you don't want happening, trust me." The warrior pushed beside her to carry on her journey.

She heard the other elf sigh as she once again strained to catch up to her. "I do not give a damn about his feelings, particularly when one of our own is imprisoned in one of his cells, pending execution for being swept ashore in ragged conditions."

The shorter elf was in her face once again. "The law is different here, Faine. She's fortunate enough to be receiving a sentencing rather than being slain on sight when she arrived."

The scarred warrior grunted. "I find it entertaining how even Hellscream is more humane in the way he treats Alliance captives."

Valeera sighed. "I don't exactly call an axe to the neck 'humane.'" Her response fell on deaf ears.

The millisecond they were let through the doors, Faine was swiftly clanging her way down towards the throne room.

"Don't do this," the other elf cautioned her. "You have no idea what you're about to cause," she lastly said, giving up when she grasped the warrior was not going to step down. She hesitated with Eileen at the end of the hallway.

"Bring me to Varian, right now," she barked to no one in particular. The man in query was by now walking out of a room, irritated by both the disorder she was causing and her attitude.

Her anger appeared to spark the instant she laid eyes on him. "You!" She hissed, jostling past him and signalling for him to follow. She stomped her way into the room they had first come across in, fleeting by a bewildered Alastrine on the way.

Faine paused for Varian to enter the room in advance to slamming the wooden door as best as she could.

She turned around and immediately set off. " _You fucking monster_ ," she initiated, thrusting a plated finger into his thinly clothed chest. The blood elf had to crane her head to look him in the eye as she continued. "How fucking  _dare_  you do this. What grounds do you have to even hold her, let alone decide her fate?"

The human king did not delay before smacking her hand away and hauling her closer to his face by the collar of her tabard. "I gather you are angry about the blood elf, but you need to drop the attitude instantly. I am doing her a favour; typically, we kill the enemy on sight. She is fortunate enough to even be receiving a verdict from me."

He released her back to the ground and surveyed her as she wrathfully flattened out the velvet fabric. A part of her mind advised her to keep her mouth shut for Lor'themar's sake, but her fury extinguished the tiny flame of reason.

"I have to remind you that I am here purely for political reasons,  _not_ jury duty. You have greater complications to concern yourself with than a castaway elf that can scarcely recollect her own name. The only person she is a danger to is herself."

The king threw his hands up while releasing a mix between a snarl and a smothered cry of exhaustion. "Precisely! Listen to what you are saying! The woman is hardly lucid, why should she be freed of her crimes if she can't even tell right from wrong?"

Faine nearly laughed at his words. "Crimes? What crimes?"

He did not answer her, his face apathetic and his stance purportedly aggressive. " _What crimes?_ "

When she received no answer, she tore the pin from her tabard, ripping a hole in its place, before tossing the piece of metal to the ground beside his feet.

* * *

Eileen's shadow danced like a contorted poltergeist down the extensive rows of cells, approximately sinister in appearance. The fire in the guard's hand sputtered and licked at the musty air, intermittently rising or waning with each draft of rogue air. The elf in the prison cell stirred and roused at their appearance, rubbing her eyes as she squinted up in the direction of the two women.

Faine stretched towards the bars and signalled for Evagria to come nearer to her. The other blood elf struggled but succeeded in getting to her feet, her face inches from the warrior's.

"You may or may not like what I have to tell you," the warrior whispered to her brethren in virtually imperceptible Thalassian.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faine finds a strange individual in the Stockades, has a small tussle with Varian, and receives a note.

Soft flickers of early morning light fell through sheer curtains, of which lined a single brick wall. The sunlight was persuasively stained a shade of cobalt as it twirled upon the heaps of bleached papers and charts littering a dilapidated bureau. Reclined in his seat at the foot of the desk sat King Varian, concentration and eyes absent to the report he gripped in one hand.

It was not unusual for him to be up so timely, sitting almost serenely in the commodious room. Nearly all sides of him were occupied with bookcases that ran from the marble floors to the high ceiling. A few volumes and sheets lay strewn on the fur rug at the head of his desk, casualty to the frenzy that was only just beginning to subside from within him.

Behind his back, additional books rested in a heap against their bookcase. Anything in his range had been torn off their shelves and tossed to the floor in his fit. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew he was being juvenile with his actions, but it had been drowned out by the billows of dust and the shredding of spines of centuries old tomes.

Breathing steadily now, his eyes skimmed row after row of inked letters, appreciative of the unperturbed quiet. But like everything in his life, it swiftly came to a screeching stop.

Eileen erupted through the doors, helmet off and her cerulean eyes widespread. Her hair had been disheveled along the way and her cheeks were feverishly flushed by the burgundy that fought to cover russet freckles. "My king, I apologise profoundly for having to charge in like this," she panted, hanging to the door. "But the blood elf is not in her quarters… we are assuming she succeeded in escaping while we were exchanging posts at twilight."

The sigh that emanated from the king had been one he was holding in since the preceding night. "Faine is a visitant of ours, here on business. She is not a jailbird serving her time in her room. If she happened to leave knowing she would not be in the company of a guard as an escort, I would trust that she is smart enough to behave; specifically when she answers unswervingly to her own king."

He stood finally from his seat, permitting the report to drop back onto the pile. "That being said, I happen to know precisely where she is."

He straightened the pile of papers, his eye fixed on the lustrous advisory pin that now peaked through the frayed pages rather than stuck onto a maddening woman's chest. He inhaled deeply, strengthening himself as he pocketed the lion's head and brushed past Eileen.

His soft steps scuffed against the cold cobblestone, the material of his cloak sweeping behind his feet. The canals were virtually forsaken at such an hour, still concealed in shadow by the soaring structures that bordered both sides. The water would be unkind but that did not seem to halt Faine, who sat on the edge of a dock with both legs immersed up to the knees by the sparkling liquid.

She was a few feet below him, a couple of cracked steps away. But still he hesitated, as hushed as the glooms he was enveloped in, entirely conscious that she knew of his being there. "Have you come to arrest me?" She called, her voice rebounding against the sun-bleached, dreary walls. "Or is there already one too many of my kind decaying away in your stockades?"

He looked away from the framework of her back and down to the pin resting in his palm. They fell into another enchantment of muteness as he inaudibly pocketed the small piece of metal.

* * *

He had not retorted. Instead, she perceived him descend the scarce disintegrating steps to her, overheard the grains of lumber snagging on his leather shoes as he closed the distance. He sat beside her, their arms chafing against the other as he wordlessly plunged his legs into the cool water with an insignificant splash. She turned her head to watch him brace his hands on his thighs, flicking her unenthusiastic regard up to his scowl.

"We have not deliberated the matters going on in Orgrimmar enough since your arrival," he began, earning himself the loss of her eyes and the profile of her face. "I will not lie when I say I have been holding information from you. The situation, at the current state, is calamitous. Theron sent you here to negotiate the joining of the blood elves into the Alliance. That was accurate at first. I figure you have grasped that you have been here far longer than you should have, given that we seldom speak?"

Faine looked at him then with tightened eyes. "What are you getting at?" The king of Stormwind paused, as if he was amassing his bearings. "The negotiations were called off before your arrival. Theron sent you here as a neutral party in order for us to accumulate and direct information to each other, using you as our asylum. It was one thing for Hellscream to know we were conferring the parting of one of his own allies from his Horde, but a whole other thing for him to know we have been scheduling his eradication."

Analyzing everything he said prudently, she spoke. "Is that what that message was then, the day we first met? How it described who I was and what I did? And who is this 'we' precisely? I know you speak of more than just you and Lor."

Varian had to look away from her reproachful eyes then. "There is a cooperative collection of leaders who are planning a rebellion, constructed around the plan you shaped. We have solidified the idea. We have enhanced it. We are, as of today, ready to move forward with it. But," he rested, looking back at her, "we need you to help us. Theron requested your attendance during the siege."

"Siege?" Faine repeated, astonished. "It was one thing for me to propose Hellscream's slaying, but a siege? Are you out of your minds?" She stood up, splashing him with water and nearly slipping on the wet stone. "No. I will not die for this. I wish for my sister back more than anything, but I refuse. My life is more valuable than something to be lost on a suicidal undertaking, particularly considering Corriana is likely, at present, deceased. I have no advantage from it."

"Faine, you are being rather self-interested," Varian called after her.

"No, I am being _practical_. I am retrieving Evagria and I am taking her home, immediately. Do _not_ stand in my way."

The human king did not trail her on her path to the Stockades. The guards there, however, had put up a fight. She had fortunately been defenceless, as the armoured men in front of her would have assuredly tasted her blade had she been.

With a boundless struggle and a vivid vocabulary, the blood elven woman had accomplished in getting her way past the men and to Evagria's cell.

"Is it time for my trial?" The paladin had asked Faine in Thalassian as the warrior signalled for one of the men to unlock the door. Both women were moderately surprised the human obeyed, but it may have been due to her insistent tenor.

"No," Faine began, assisting Evagria to her feet and dragging her out of the cell. "There has been a modification to the plans. There will be no trial."

"Wait, why?" The warrior desired to scream to the heavens in her fit of annoyance. _Why could she not just be satisfied that she was free to go?_ "They no longer need you to testify," she started as she hauled the brown-haired woman through the twisting hallways. "The Alliance leaders are well aware of Hellscream's horrendous crimes. They had been holding you as justification to keep you restrained in a place where you would not be able to spread rumours. Where better than a shithole on the other end of the mainland where no one speaks your language?"

They rounded a final corner. "They nearly killed me to keep me _quiet_? Oh, those fucking-"

The sun was higher in the sky than Faine had anticipated by the time their faces kissed the light. Evagria shrieked as it seared her sensitive eyes, and the warrior was just pleased it had protected her from hearing a slew of mindless vulgarities.

Their entrance back to the Keep was chanced with apprehensive eyes, and Faine knew it was only a matter of time before a very livid Varian would be presenting himself at her door. She flung Evagria into the adjoined bath, urging her to bathe as rapidly as she could, while piling her golden plate into her thin arms. The paladin had to drop most of it onto a granite counter before the warrior recommenced with the rest.

Passing her the final piece, Evagria gave the other blood elf a devious look as she elevated what was fundamentally a golden plate bikini top into the air. "A little slutty, are we?" The warrior smacked her hands down and propelled her further into the stone room. "There is no time for the accompanying mail. Just put it on, unless you wish to remain here."

After locking the door, the woman nearly stumbled over the murloc that was sprawled on the ground, consuming a leather shoe. She did not even care to react when she noted that it was _her_ shoe. As an alternative, she side-stepped the scaled creature and commenced packing as fast as she could.

No less than five minutes later, Varian had arrived and sealed the door, standing in front of it before Faine had the chance to move a muscle. They locked disdained eyes as Evagria appeared from the bathroom, taking one look at the situation and withdrawing with a Thalassian "nope".

"Varian Wrynn, if you do not step away from that door, I will pull a sword on you." Her words were demanding and rang true. The human shook his head. "I have put up with your obstinacy from day one, but this is not the time for it."

Faine sneered. "What is it, then?" He held out a piece of paper, rolled in his hand, and she gave him a sceptical look. "Read it."

She moved towards him, ending close enough that they would be nose-to-nose if they were of equal stature. His knuckles dug into her abdomen and she used both of her own hands to undo his fingers from the document, not breaking their deathly gaze.

As soon as the letter was free from his grasp, she unceremoniously unravelled it. Something from within it fluttered to the ground, earning her eyes as she observed it land by her feet. It was a lock of curly hair, the colour a blonde so pale it was almost white. Securing it into one part, ruby fingerprints destroyed what would have been primeval snowy lace.

She fell to her knees, not caring that it positioned her in an awkward situation in front of Varian, her digits gently tracing down the span of hair. "What is this?" Faine whispered, grasping the blood-streaked assemblage of hair into her palm, asking a question she already had the answer to.

The human king had crouched in front of her, lifting her jaw up with rough-skinned fingers, his brown eyes meeting her green. His face beheld foreign sincerity in that minute, bathed in afternoon light, touched indistinctly indigo by the draperies.

"She is in Orgrimmar, Faine." His words ensnared her, binding her into a fatal bond she had temporarily been stuffing her bags to escape from. Had his face not been screening a sentiment she had never seen him wear previously, she would have called him on mockery, one he would have know would make her approve of a suicidal dance in which he lead with an open hand.

She locked her palm into a fist, craning her head away so his hand fell from her face, her eyes clutching shut. Her thoughts exploded into a crescendo, her fury succeeding its suffocating harmony as she tossed the hair as far away from herself that she could, squeezing through the door. She left Varian there, with a stinging back and with the answer to a demand he had wordlessly asked her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh my god. Finally. It's done. I rushed like fuck to get this done, and it's noticeable (and short af), but straightforward. After I catch up on the last 2 chapters for my other story, I'll put out chapter 1 of the 2nd part to this trilogy.


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